


Mary

by naupathiac



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: '...and may she be at peace', Gen, emotional abuse tw, emotional manipulation tw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-14 12:16:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2191512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naupathiac/pseuds/naupathiac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>' I'm meddling with murderers who still deserve to pay for their insanity,<br/>and though I'm one of them, I'm rarest of my kind... '</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mary

_It’s been so long since I’ve seen the sun._

The night she was smuggled to the mansion was the first time she had experienced the rawness of the worlds outside. Previous to the event she was shrouded in ivory, burning opalescent walls gleaming lilac, lavender, white white white. Many a time her eyes would burn from the intensity of the smooth-polished marble of Oblivion closing in with startling nothingness, and it was then she was reminded  _she_ was nothing too. 

                  It was fitting. 

 _Who’s to say if the colours have faded?,_ have increased? Maybe it was all in her head, her vision damaged from the brightness of the light bouncing off of the castle surface, distracting enough to have one  ~~forget~~ what they were thinking. 

 _…Clouds of visions, clouds of villains, mulling in withdrawal_ from his head onto thick paper, flowing from fingertips and pencil, illustrating the warmth of the outdoors. Saying she wished to see the sun and stars for herself was an understatement; the yearning for freedom was ingrained in her every fibre. Leather-robed beings repeat her lack of existence as a way to make her work, to assure her presence remains trapped, and she does without fail, for that is what a Nobody does. 

 ~~Is what she is thinking a product of her Somebody? …It couldn’t be.~~  

Biting the ends of a black line, Naminé alters the rip on a redheaded man’s coat. Zigzagged as it was the repair seemed to do the job, therefore she was satisfied with the results. Unfortunately, her best was not enough.  _You’re burning holes in my stitching, the colours bleeding into one big mess_ on the sparkling floors, liquid burgundy steaming underneath its murky surface. It would take days to clean completely, and longer for Axel's injury to heal.

{{ It was then she recalled the f r a g i l i t y of not only herself, but everyone around her. }}

 _Mightn’t I have seen this coming on the horizon?,_ with the omnipresence they said she had? With every woven line, each linking chain, he loses more, and a presence in the building wavers; she feels it in the shaking hands she uses to brush away flecks of brown from another portrait of the boy, of Sora. A girl with raven’s tresses absorbs what she attempts to heal, what she is  **breaking,** and it’s all so very very wrong. If she was so powerful and influential, why couldn’t she stop this from beginning in the first place…?

 _Storms of green and orange, this world of monsters taking form_ from charcoal scribblings, with yellow dots for eyes and knife-jagged swipes for claws, rise from the sheet. If she wished to do so, just a wave of the hand would conjure this beasts in actuality. But she couldn't, she wouldn't; she would never place him in harm (although she already was through her mere existence). A trembling page flip and the next picture has Sora drowning in a puddle of black. Her stomach flips enough for her to close the book (that is, until she is ruthlessly beguiled into continuing what she began). 

However, those were just memories. 

**Her own**  memories, of the past. 

A chair pushed up to the window, curtains swaying with the breeze of Twilight Town, Naminé sits and reminisces. **Sketchpad** in one hand and a crayon in the other, she absentmindedly draws the sky. Her eraser rubs against a sloppily layered cloud. A moment of bliss passes, and it is in that peaceful silence she realises she is partaking in this activity of her own volition for the first time in her life. She knows this because **she remembers** otherwise. 

...Though  _it is my place to simply fade away like wind, like someone else that I could name that shouldn’t have been born,_ these memories solidify her footing. When she looks in the mirror it isn’t the replica of Kairi that she is told she is but herself, N a m i n é . She was  _locked away so long, now jaded, left only to decay_ over a self-written faerie's tale with devastating picture, and she greatly opposed that. She was a Nobody, but she was also so much MORE. 

She was always left to rot, left to do dirty work for others,  
and it was time she started doing things for her own sake.

Once she finished her work, she disappeared, **everything** behind her thought of but never returned to. 

                                                       Only then was she content. 

**Author's Note:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wot5xUsuWzI


End file.
